


Nothing is as Sweet as You

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Junior Masterchef, Alternate Universe - Masterchef Junior, Bullied Stiles Stilinski, Bully Jackson Whittemore, Bullying, Burns, Cooking, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: The competition is down to seven, but all it takes is one accident for the most remarkable thing to happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).



The doors swung open as the children made their way into the MasterChef kitchen. No matter how many times they walked through those doors, it didn’t become any less intimidating. They made their way into the massive room with balconies looking down on the rows of shining stainless steel benches. The younger kids sprinted ahead, making their way up to the front of the room where the three chefs stood, fighting smiles at the sight of their ecstatic faces.

There was seven of them left in the competition.

Derek was the eldest in the competition; he was thirteen years old. He was quiet and tended to hide in the farthest bench. He didn’t talk much, but everyone had noticed the way his eyes would drift to the boy at the bench in front of him, watching Stiles intently.

Stiles was twelve years old but always seemed to think too fast for the rest of his body to keep up. He was hyperactive and tended to struggle with things.

Beside him stood Isaac, the youngest of the competition. The boy was eight years old and barely reached Stiles’ ribs when he stood up tall. His sapphire blue eyes were always wide and curious, and his sandy-blonde curls were a tangled mess atop his head.

Beside Isaac was Erica, the nine-year-old who tended to get a little bossy when she’s stressed. Her thick blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a long pony tail and she nervously balled her hands into fists again and again.

Boyd, the ten-year-old standing next to her, reached out and took her hand in his. Erica bowed her head, trying to hide her bashful smile and the soft rosy blush that coloured her cheeks. Boyd just smiled, his eyes still focused on the judges.

Gordon had to turn his face away for a second, struggling to smother his smile and regain his composure.

The final two children left in the competition was eleven-year-old Scott, who was sweet on ten-year-old Allison—always looking at her with his dark brown doe eyes.

A large curtain was set up behind them, obscuring their challenge of the day. The billowing red velvet swayed slightly as the judges welcomed them all back into the kitchen and began to introduce the next challenge in the competition.

“We’ve got a very special treat for you today,” Graham said, a smile lighting his face. He took a step back and let the billowing curtain drop to the ground on cue.

The room let out a collective gasp as they stared at the table full of sugar-dusted doughnuts, delicately decorated cupcakes, rich chocolate cakes, pastel-coloured cake pops, colourful macrons, and tiramisu.

“Desserts,” Graham said.

“You all have one hour to make a dessert that is rich in flavour but light enough that you could eat it after a three-course meal,” Joe added. “Your sixty minutes start…”

The kids braced themselves to run, the younger ones taking a step forward and crouching as if they were about to start a race.

“Now.”

The kids hurried into the pantry, grabbing the wire baskets and gathering the ingredients they’d need. It was a frantic flurry of movement as they each hurried to find what they needed.

Stiles gathered the ingredients he needed and watched out the corner of his eyes as Isaac rose onto his toes and began to pile apples into his basket.

Across the room, Derek stepped up the shelves that were stocked full of herbs, spices and bakery ingredients.

Isaac nearly ran into him as he slid to a stop, standing on his toes as he strained to look at the jars on the shelf. He reached for one, his fingers straining as he grabbed the nutmeg and put it in his basket.

“Where’s the cinnamon?” he said quietly to himself.

Derek reached out, picking the jar up and handing it to the boy.

Isaac smiled sweetly. “Thank you,” he said before hurrying out of the kitchen and back to his workstation.

Derek grabbed the box of cocoa powder, checking the he had everything in his basket before heading back to his workstation at the back of the room. He returned to get a mixer and some baking trays, smothering a laugh as he watched Isaac do the same with an electric mixer that was almost as big as him.

Derek set his equipment down on the table before hurrying over to help Isaac lift the heavy mixer onto the counter. He picked up a small stool that sat at the end of the workshop and nudged it into place in front of the counter, smiling as Isaac thanked him again.

They fell silent as they started cooking, all intensely focused on what they were cooking.

After about fifteen minutes, Gordon Ramsey began to walk along the benches, talking to each of the children, tasting what they had cooked so far, and offering hints where they were needed.

Finally, he came close enough that Derek could hear what he was saying.

“What are you making, Isaac?” Gordon asked encouragingly.

“I’m making mini apple pies with a cinnamon and nutmeg crust,” the boy answered.

“That sounds so good,” Gordon said. “Where did you learn to make these?”

“My brother and I used to make them for our mum before she got sick,” Isaac replied, looking up at his brother, Camden, who smiled back at him from where he stood on the balcony.

“I’m sure we’ll love them as much as she did,” Gordon said softly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The man made his way to the next counter, watching as Stiles frantically moved back and forth across the space, his hands shaking slightly as he struggled to keep up with his racing thoughts.

“What are you working on, Stiles?” Gordon asked.

“It’s a traditional Polish sernik – or, cheesecake – with chocolate sauce and walnuts,” Stiles explained.

“That sounds delicious,” Gordon said, dipping a spoon into the cheesecake mix and tasting it. “Tastes delicious too. Where did you learn to make this?”

“It’s my Babka’s recipe,” Stiles replied.

“You ever make it for your girlfriend?” Gordon teased.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

Stiles’ face flushed red as he shook his head.

“If you don’t have a boyfriend, I think Derek over there is sweet for you. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”

Derek’s eyes flew open wide. He dropped his gaze, his heart hammering as he tried to focus on his cooking.

Gordon let out a soft chuckle, watching as both the boys’ faces turned bright red. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

After that, time seemed to pass. Stiles focused his attention on his dish; crushing the biscuits into crumbs and mixing in butter and sugar before pressing the mix into the bottom of the pan to make a crust. He mixed together the filling, adding crushed vanilla bean before pouring it into the baked crust and setting it aside in the fridge to set.

There was a loud crash and a pained yelp.

Stiles bolted upright, his eyes catching the sight of Isaac falling to his knees. He ran around his counter and sprinted to the boy’s side.

The boy was on the floor, curled up on himself and cradling his hand to his chest. Beside him sat the saucepan he had been cooking the apple filling in, the pan sizzling on the floor. The caramelised apple was spilt across the floor, wisps of steam rising from it.

“Isaac?” he said softly, steadying his hands on the boy’s shoulders and encouraging the boy to look up at him. Stiles noticed the blistering red welt that covered the palm of the hand that Isaac cradled to his chest.

Tears streamed down the boy’s pale cheeks, his shoulders rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, smoothing back the boy’s unruly curls. “It’s alright.”

A medic team raced over to their side.

“I’m not going to finish,” Isaac sobbed.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles said, determined. “I’m going to clean this up for you and then I’m going to help you. You are going to finish.”

Stiles grabbed a cloth and wet it, using it to hold the hot pan before dumping it in the sink. He started to clean up the mess on the floor when a pair of shoes came into his peripheral vision. He looked up to see Derek set a pile of apples down on the counter. He grabbed a knife and began to dice them, setting them in a clean pan.

Once Stiles had finished cleaning, he grabbed another knife and helped Derek dice the apples, measuring out the sugar and water.

“I’ve got this if you need to go finish yours,” Stiles said.

“My cake’s in the oven,” Derek replied. “I’ve got twenty minutes to spare.”

A sweet, thankful smile lifted the corner of Stiles’ lips.

“Can you imagine those two cooking together in the kitchen in a few years’ time?” they heard Gordon tease.

Derek moved the pan to the stove and began to cook the sauce. Stiles turned his attention to the crust.

A sniffling Isaac joined him, his hand wrapped in a thick white bandage and covered in a glove. His cheeks were stained with tears and his lips still quivered.

“Tell me how you want me to do it and I’ll do it,” Stiles said.

Isaac’s voice was quiet as he gave Stiles instructions. Stiles did as he was told, mixing together the ingredients and kneading the dough. He rolled it flat, letting Isaac cut out the circles and press them into the metal cups of the muffin tray.

Derek helped spoon the caramelised apple into the pans before heading back to his workbench to finish his meal. Stiles helped Isaac weave the top of the pie crusts into a lattice before putting the tray in the oven.

“Tell me when they’re done, and I’ll help you get them out of the oven, okay?” he said.

Isaac nodded, thanking Stiles again before collecting plates and slicing up another apple – ready for plating.

Stiles returned to his bench and began to mix together cocoa powder, sugar and water. He brought it to a simmer and began to stir, slowly adding in butter, vanilla and cream. He took the sauce off the stove and poured it over the top of the cheesecake, smoothing it out before putting it back in the fridge.

He gathered plates and opened the jar of walnuts sitting on the bench next to him.

“Stiles?” Isaac said quietly, his bright blue eyes peering over the edge of the tall workbench.

“Are they done?” Stiles asked.

Isaac nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles said with a smile, making his way around the bench and collecting the oven mitts. He lifted the tray out of the oven and set it up on the cooling rack. “If I get them out onto the cooling rack, will you be okay to plate up?”

Isaac nodded again, passing Stiles the butterknife he was holding.

Stiles slid the knife around the crust, popping the small pies from the tin and setting them down on the wire cooling rack. Once done, he set the hot tray in the sink and ran cool water over it, letting it hiss and steam.

“Thank you,” Isaac called after him.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles replied as he pulled his cheesecake from the cooler and began to plate up.

A short while later, the judges’ voices rang out as they counted down. “Hands up,” they called out.

The kids raised their hands, the finished dishes sitting before them on the benches. The judges called the kids forward, one by one, tasting the desserts they had dished up and offering them compliments and feedback.

Finally, Stiles was called up. He picked up the dished plate and carried it over to the judges, setting it down on the table and taking a step back.

Joe stepped forward, picking up a spoon and tasting the cheesecake.

“Stiles, you and Derek did something amazing today,” Joe said. “And I’m not talking about the desserts you made—as amazing as they are. You two did something so selfless. You two set aside everything you’ve done to help someone you were competing against.”

“My mum always told me that t’s not a competition unless it’s fair,” Stiles said. “Isaac has worked just as hard as the rest of us to get this far, and I don’t think it would fair if he were to get eliminated because of an accident. And in any situation, whether this was a competition or not, people matter. And if someone gets hurt, I will always put them above anything I’m doing.”

A smile lifted the corners of Joe’s lips. “I think your mum would be very proud of you.” He looked up at the balcony that overlooked the kitchen. “What do you think, dad?”

John’s eyes glistened with tears as he nodded. “I think she’d be very proud.”

Stiles smiled up at his dad.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Joe said.

Stiles nodded and made his way back to his bench.

Isaac was the last to be called up.

“Isaac, can you bring your plate up to the front?” Gordon prompted.

The little boy’s hands shook as he carried the plate. The small apple pie was the size of a cupcake, the crust golden and dusted with sugar. Thin slices of apple and caramel sauce sat beside it as it was plated up with a scoop of ice cream.

“Just looking at that,” Gordon said as the boy set the plate on the table before the man. “It looks amazing.”

He collected a spoon and dug into the apple pie.

“The crust is the perfect mix of crunchy and crumbly,” the chef commented, lifting the spoon to his mouth. “That is delicious. You did a fantastic job, Isaac.”

“Thank you, chef,” the boy said quietly.

Gordon took a step back and Graham stepped forward, collecting another spoon and taking a bite of the apple pie.

“Life doesn’t always go your way, does it?” Graham said.

Isaac shook his head, his sandy-blonde curls bouncing about.

“And sometimes accidents happen, and sometimes we get hurt,” the man continued. “But you are so strong; you got back up on your feet and you kept going.”

“I had help,” the boy said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the two older boys. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Stiles and Derek.”

“You need to give yourself some credit too,” Graham encouraged. “Because the friends you make reflect the kind of person you are. You are kind and thoughtful, and I think Stiles and Derek would agree with me when I say that you are a good person—and so, your friends are too.”

Isaac looked over his shoulder again, watching as Stiles and Derek nodded in agreement. A rosy-pink blush coloured.

“You did great,” Graham said. “Thank you, Isaac.”

“Thank you,” the boy said before hurrying back to his counter.

 

 

The room was heavy with anticipation as the judges talked among one another. The silence settled over the room as the judges broke out of their huddle and called the children forward to the front of the room.

“Today has been a big day, and that was a tough challenge, but all of you pulled through,” Gordon said. “I’m not kidding when I say that that was the hardest round we’ve ever had to judge.”

The kids’ faces lit up with smiles.

“And we think the winner of today’s challenge deserves an extra prize. What do you think it should be?”

“A kiss from Stiles,” Erica said confidently. “Unless Stiles is the winner, in which case it should be a kiss from Derek.”

The room burst into laughter.

Gordon took a moment to compose himself. “I think that’s a good prize. Scott, Isaac and Stiles, would you please step forward?”

The three of them took a step forward, standing before the judges.

“Isaac,” Gordon started. “You are not today’s winner, but we want to give you a reward for the determination and strength you showed today. We’re giving you a full set of baking equipment. And I want you to leave knowing that those apple pies were the best I have ever eaten. If you came up to me in ten years’ time, I would not hesitate to put those pies in my restaurants.”

“Thank you, chef,” Isaac beamed. He stepped back to join the others, letting Derek wrap his arms around the boy’s shoulders and hug him tight.

“Scott, you served up an amazing dessert,” Joe said. “But it just wasn’t enough to keep you in the competition. You are a great chef, you plate up some incredible dishes, and you missed out by a hair’s breadth. Please, hold onto your apron and keep cooking, because you are great at what you do.”

“Thank you, chef,” Scott said.

Stiles reached out and patted his friend’s shoulder, offering Scott a kind smile.

“Stiles,” Gordon said, getting the boy’s attention. “You have made your mum, your dad, and you Babka proud today. You are the winner of today’s challenge.”

The room filled with applause as a sweet smile lifted Stiles’ mole-speckled cheeks. He took a step back to join the other kids, standing beside Derek.

There was a moment of hesitation before Derek leant over and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles heart skipped a beat and he nearly choked on his breath. His eyes flew open wide, his cheeks flushing as he smiled bashfully and dropped his head. He glanced out the corner of his eyes, noticing the blush that coloured Derek’s cheeks and the way he smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The competition is heating up and the pressure is sinking in. Derek and Stiles are growing close and others are growing jealous.

“Elimination round.”

There was a tension in the air as Joe’s voice filled the kitchen.

Stiles and Derek had made it through to the next round and stood up on the mezzanine, leaning against the railing and looking down at the two boys who stood in front of the benches.

Isaac was fidgeting back and forth, feeling the pressure set in.

Beside him, Boyd was still, his face composed but his eyes dark as thoughts raced through his mind.

Stiles pushed himself away from the railing.

He didn’t want either of them to go. He liked Isaac and Boyd. Either of them deserved to win; both of them deserved to be in the next round, not Stiles.

He walked over to one of the couches on the balcony and sitting down, letting his mind drift. He listened to the chaos downstairs, his chest tightening with anxiety.

He held his breath, the sound of his pounding heartbeat filling his ears. He balled his hands into fists and unfurled them over and over again. Trying to stop them shaking.

“Stiles?”

He looked up to see a pair of aventurine eyes look down at him, worried.

“I’m fine,” Stiles lied.

Derek sat down next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just a panic attack,” Stiles admitted, shocked at how honest he was. “I’m fine.”

Derek reached out and gently laid his hands atop of Stiles’.

Stiles looked up at him, shocked.

The boy’s eyes met his, holding him there.

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat before it began to settle, the panic subsiding as he lost himself in the depths of Derek’s eyes.

“You’re going to be okay,” Derek said reassuringly.

“There’s just so much pressure in this competition,” Stiles muttered. “You’re all incredible, and I feel like I’m struggling to keep up.”

“Struggling to keep up?” Derek repeated back, astonished. “Stiles, you’re blazing ahead of us. You’re the best of all of us.”

Stiles bowed his head as a soft blush coloured his cheeks. He shook his head. “No. That’s you.”

A sweet smile played across Derek’s lips.

“I’ll get you some water,” Derek said, slowly drawing his hands away and rising to his feet.

Stiles watched him leave, making his way to the far end of the balcony where sponsors had set up a table of drinks; juices, healthy energy drinks, and bottles of water.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, an icy chill clawing at his spine ass he turned to see a pair of cold blue-grey eyes fixed on him.

Jackson Whittemore was one of the kids who had been eliminated in the earlier rounds of the competition. He was the same age as Derek and had short-cropped chestnut brown hair and a strong jaw with a cleft chin. A spray of freckles were scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as Jackson stalked over to his side.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, towering over Stiles. “This is a competition and you’re getting all cuddly with Derek.”

“There’s no reason we can’t be friends,” Stiles said defensively.

“There’s every reason you can’t be friends,” Jackson said. “Chances are you and Derek are going to face off against each other in the finale, and it’s not a fair competition if you mess with his emotions and manipulate him.”

“I’m not manipulating him,” Stiles objected, leaping to his feet.

“Then, what? Are you gay?”

“What?” Stiles asked, caught off guard.

“Oh my god, you’re gay!” Jackson said, his voice laced with disgust.

Jackson shoved him backwards.

The back of Stiles’ legs hit the edge of the couch. He fell backwards, hitting the ground with a heavy thump. He winced in pain, his jaw tight as he glared at Jackson.

“You’re a faggot,” Jackson hissed. “A sissy little faggot. And I hope you lose.”

“Hey,” Derek called, hurrying back over to Stiles’ side. He elbowed his way past Jackson, helping Stiles to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stile said, his eyes focused on his feet.

Derek shot Jackson a dirty glare over his shoulder before turning back to Stiles.

“Here,” he said softly as he held out the bottle of water for the boy to take.

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered, his voice barely audible.

Derek set his hand on Stiles’ arm, gently brushing the ball of his thumb in soothing circles.

“Don’t tell me you like him too?” Jackson scoffed, snarling in disgust as his eyes rolled over Derek.

“What’s going on?”

The stern voice startled them.

They all turned to see Gordon making his way across the balcony.

“Jackson pushed Stiles over and was calling him mean names,” Erica answered from nearby, her arms folded across her chest and her glare fixed on Jackson.

“What kind of mean names?” Gordon asked, turning to the girl, since she was the only one talking.

“He called him a sissy and an f word,” Erica replied.

“He’s flirting with Derek to win the competition,” Jackson said, pointing an accusing finger at Stiles.

“I am not,” Stiles replied.

Derek gave Stiles’ arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze, but kept his gaze locked on Jackson.

“Maybe he likes Derek,” Erica said, levelling her gaze with Jackson. “And even if he does, it’s not up to you to decide who he can or can’t like.”

“Jackson,” Gordon said firmly, cutting their conversation short. “This kind of behaviour and this kind of language is not welcome in this kitchen. I want you to leave now and don’t come back.”

“But—” The teen’s words faltered as Gordon fixed his glare on the boy.

They watched as Jackson turned to leave, his father walking beside him and not saying a word.

Gordon turned back to Stiles. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Stiles nodded, dropping his gaze again. He turned away from the others, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes when they looked at him.

He sat down on the couch again, hands trembling as he unscrewed the lid of the water bottle Derek had gotten him and took a sip.

Erica turned back towards the kitchen, sitting down and threading her legs through the bars so that they hung off the balcony.

“Don’t listen to Jackson,” Derek said as he sat down next to him, leaning in close as he whispered, “And I don’t mind if you like me or not, ‘cause I like you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale.

The final two.

Stiles swallowed hard against het lump in his throat, his stomach twisting nauseatingly. He drew in deep, measured breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

He looked across the kitchen to where Derek stood behind the glossy steel counter of the opposing kitchenette.

The older boy offered him a reassuring smile.

“Congratulations to the two of you for making it this far,” Joe said. “You have proven time and time again that you have what it takes to be Masterchefs, but sadly, only one of you can be the winner of this competition.”

“Every single one of you has shown so much talent and integrity, you should all be proud of yourselves for making it as far as you did int his competition,” Graham said, addressing both Stiles and Derek and the rows of eliminated contestants that were lined up on the balcony, watching them. “Not only have you shown how incredible you can be in the kitchen, but you’ve shown compassion and selflessness when helping other contestants.”

Stiles looked up at Isaac.

The boy stood next to Boyd and Erica, standing on a milk crate so that he could see over the railing. His hair was still a halo of messy sandy-blonde curls, his shimmering sapphire eyes meeting Stiles’ as a bright smile lit his face.

Stiles smiled back before looking at Erica, who smiled at him too.

“You truly are two amazing kids,” Gordon said, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “You have astounded us, time and time again. Not only with your cooking, but with your actions. And no matter who wins the finale, you’re both winners to us.”

“Are you ready to get started?” Joe asked.

Stiles and Derek both nodded.

“Your final challenge,” Joe started, “is to cook a three-course meal in two hours; appetiser, main, and desert.”

Stiles swallowed hard.

“Try to balance your flavours and consider the density of each course in relation to the next,” Graham suggested. “You don’t want a dense appetiser followed by a dense main.”

“You have two hours,” Joe said. “Starting… now.”

The two of them sprinted towards the pantry, each grabbing a metal basket and stacking their ingredients inside. They hurried back to the kitchenettes and began to prep their meals.

After a while, Gordon walked over to the two benches, watching what they were doing. He stopped in front of Stiles’ bench and asked, “What are you making, Stiles?”

“I’m making cream cheese Rangoon for the appetiser, standing beef rip with onion gravy and sweet potato chips for the main, and a strawberry brûlée for desert,” Stiles answered.

“That sounds divine,” Gordon said. “I’m going to come back when you start making that brûlée because I want to taste it.”

He made his way over to Derek’s work station.

“I’m making shredded beef sliders for an appetiser, a vegetarian lasagna with eggplant and capsicum for the main, and a black forest berry cake for desert,” Derek said.

“Wow. You two really know what you’re doing,” Gordon complimented. “I can’t wait to taste these when they’re done.”

A short while later, Stiles saw Derek frantically searching his bench for something. He moved the bowls around, checking shelves and under other ingredients.

“What are you looking for?” Stiles called out to him.

“Eggs,” Derek replied. “I swear I grabbed them.”

“How many do you need?” Stiles asked, setting down the knife he was using to slice the wonton sheets for the Rangoon.

“Three,” Derek answered.

“Here,” Stiles said, opening up the carton of eggs he had on the counter.

Derek held out his hands, ready to catch them.

“Really?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah.”

“Fine,” Stiles said. “But if you drop them, it’s your fault. One—”

He tossed the egg to Derek.

Derek caught it, setting it aside in an empty bowl as Stiles counted and tossed the next one.

“Two.”

Another catch.

“Three.”

Derek caught the egg, setting it aside.

“Thank you,” he called to Stiles as he turned back to his bench and set to work.

The kids who watched on from the balcony applauded them.

On the podium, Gordon blinked in surprise.

“They’re so in sync,” he said, shocked.

“Can you imagine them doing that in a few years’ time when they inevitably end up together?” Graham remarked.

The comment made Gordon smile.

Time seemed to fly by as Stiles and Derek set to work, putting their meals together and cooking them. Before they knew it, Joe gave them a ten-minute warning to finish their dishes and plate up.

The voices echoed about the room as everyone began to count down.

“Five... Four... Three... Two... One.”

“Time’s up,” Joe announced.

Stiles and Derek stepped back from their benches.

Stiles practically collapsed on the floor.

“Derek,” Graham called. “Could you please bring your dishes to the front of the room?”

Derek did, setting his dishes down on the table before the judges.

“Remind us again, what did you cook?” Joe prompted.

“I made shredded beef sliders for the appetiser, a vegetarian lasagna with eggplant and capsicum for the main, and a black forest berry cake for desert,” Derek answered.

One by one, the judges tasted the dishes, nodding thoughtfully.

“I like the way you balanced the density with the dishes,” Graham said. “You gave us a moderately heavy appetiser that was full of flavour, then a light main, and a moderately heavy desert to finish it off.”

“I agree,” Gordon said. “I especially love how you balanced the flavours; none of it was bland, and none of it was overpowering. And that black forest berry cake was divine. I was surprised at how light it was. Usually black forest berry cakes are dense and rich. But that was just perfect.”

“Thank you, Derek. You can go back to your bench.”

Derek thanked them and returned to the small kitchenette.

“Good job,” Stiles whispered to him.

“Thank you.”

“Stiles,” Gordon called. “Can you please bring your dishes to the front?”

Stiles did, setting the plates down on the table and taking a step back. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, his racing heart hammering in his chest.

“What did you make for us?” Joe prompted.

“I made cream cheese Rangoon for the appetiser, standing beef rip with sweet onion gravy and sweet potato chips for the main, and a strawberry brûlée for desert,” Stiles said.

The judges took their time tasting the dishes, nodding thoughtfully as they savoured each mouthful.

“The Rangoon was perfect,” Graham said. “It was golden and had the perfect amount of crunch to it. The beef rib was full of flavour and dense enough to feel like a main meal while also being light enough that it didn’t make you feel weighed down. And served with those sweet potato chips it was delicious.”

“That was sublime,” Gordon added. “That strawberry brûlée was the perfect mix of sweet and tart. Everything was cooked to perfection.”

“You’ve done great, Stiles,” Joe said. “You can go back to your bench now.”

Stiles thanked them and returned to the small kitchenette.

The judges turned to face each other, talking quietly as they deliberated.

“You did great,” Derek whispered.

“So did you,” Stiles replies.

“That strawberry brûlée looks incredible,” Derek said.

“Do you want to try it?” Stiles asked, picking up a small spoon and ne of the extra deserts he had plated up.

Derek offered him a plate of black forest berry cake.

“That looks so good,” Stiles said, digging into it with a teaspoon.

There was a quiet echo of laughter throughout the room as others watched the two of them lean over the bench, snacking on the deserts.

“Oh my god, that’s delicious,” Stiles said.

“This is incredible,” Derek said, licking the cream off his lips.

He judges looked up, unable to hide their smiles when the boys set down the deserts and smiled mischievously.

“Stiles, Derek, please come down to the front of the room.”

They set down the deserts and made their way to the podium.

Stiles felt his throat tighten. His heart hammered against his ribs.

They stood side by side, close enough that Derek could reach out slightly and brush his hand against Stiles’ reassuringly.

“Believe us when we say that this is the hardest competition we’ve ever had to judge,” Gordon said. “The two of you have risen to every challenge, you’ve brought incredible dishes to the table time and time again. You have both made your families proud and I hope that you’re both proud of yourselves.”

“But sadly, there can only be one winner.” Joe paused, letting the heavy silence settle over them. “And that winner won by a hair’s breadth.”

There was another intense pause.

Stiles held his breath.

“Stiles…”

He met Joe’s gaze, trying to read his thoughts.

“You are the winner of this year’s competition.”

The room erupted in applause.

Derek turned, pulling Stiles into his arms and holding him tight.

Stiles hugged him back, feeling relief flood over him.

Slivers of golden confetti rained down around them.

Tears welled in his eyes as he drew back, his face flushed red. He turned and looked up at where his Dad stood, watching him from the balcony with eyes full of pride.

Stiles turned and looked at Derek.

Derek smiled back at him, his pale aventurine eyes full of joy.

“Congratulations,” Gordon said. “Both of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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